Tried to keep this chapter a little short this time. Love you guys :D

It was already late evening and the weight of the armor Varis was carrying put so much strain on his arms. Although he carried some heavy things during his time as a blacksmith, this was much heavier than that. The Legion he was posted to was the very last one at the Great Wall, tasked with defending the Great Wall should a Dragan invasion take place. Varis hated that, but he would just have to live with it. It was better than dying in any case back at his community home.

He kicked the tent flap open and walked out. The Legion's tents were laid in a straight, unfashionable manner. Legionnaires who were off-duty treated themselves to some ale in a nearby bar, also looking for some hired, illegal activities. Legionnaires were not allowed to have children in any way, but that didn't stop them. 

They simply took a wife whenever they felt like, or most times by accident as a result of a one-night stand. This happened too many times that the Legion captains decided to overlook it. The Legion was training again, soldiers trampling whatever little grass remained in the camp. Due to their frequent runs, the grass in the camp had been trampled so many times that the grass did not re-grow.

A soldier ran into him and caused him to drop all the armor he was carrying to dispose of. The soldier simply got up and continued, leaving Varis to pick up the remains. Muttering a curse, he picked everything up one by one and began walking again, past the tide of the jogging legionnaires.

He came to a stop towards the end of the neat row of tents, a little sign indicating the Legion's blacksmith. The man was a cheerful fellow, and normally found topics of interest to have a conversation with Varis. Varis opened the tent flap with his leg and dropped the armor without ceremony on the floor.

The blacksmith's workshop was quite large, with a lot of rows of iron piling up in the cabinet. Often the blacksmith was short of hands, so Varis offered a hand once in a while. Today, almost everyone was out, presumably on a nice lunch break, leaving only the blacksmith in the shop, looking over new designs for swords, helmets and shields.

The noise startled the blacksmith, who jumped from the chair he was seated upon. His brows were deeply furrowed, with beads of perspiration forming under his nose. He stretched out to his full height of five foot eight, arms bulky, facing Varis.

"What in the name of the Spirits did you think you were up to, boy? You nearly scared me to death there!"

"Sorry, sir. The supply of iron was much higher than expected today." Varis explained, stretching his arms painfully. His muscles ached from the immense weight, arms turning a deep shade of red.

The blacksmith studied him deeply with his dark brown eyes. Then his facial muscles twitched in a smile. "I can see that, lad. If you came here for work, there's not much to do today, which explains the empty shop." The blacksmith moved his hand in a vague gesture, emphasizing the emptiness of the place.

"I didn't come for work. I heard word from outside sources, though unconfirmed." Varis tensed. "They say that the Dragans are on the move."

The blacksmith laughed heartily. "You indeed are the last to know, boy. The Legion got wind of the threat some days ago. Hence the increase in drills."

"Then why aren't you working more than ever before?"

"Because, boy, we prepared for this years ago. If you could make some time out to go talk to one of the Tribunes, he'll tell you how many excess things we have. You'll be shocked."

Varis lifted a brow. "Wouldn't all that weaponry rust without use and proper maintenance?" The blacksmith turned his back to Varis, rolling the blueprints for a kind of sword up and placing it in a cabinet.

"It would, if it were under normal circumstances that the average Joran knows about. But, some years ago, the head of Science let us in on a little secret. Lacing."

Varis looked surprised. "Lacing?" The blacksmith smirked but said nothing. "What is lacing?"

"Lacing is a technique that allows blacksmiths make use of their metal energy to lace the sword, allowing it to last for much more than twenty years unused."

Varis kept his mouth shut and waited for realization to dawn on the blacksmith. The silenced stretched awkwardly. Then the blacksmith realized his mistake.

"Oh, spirits heal my memory, I'm sorry, lad. I didn't mean to cause any harm whatsoever." The blacksmith said, putting a hand on Varis' shoulder. Varis bit back the bitterness in him.

"So what's the next course of action?" Varis asked. The blacksmith looked pained deeply. "I suggest we all learn how to use a sword and a shield. A Legion of little more than seven thousand wouldn't hold against the Dragans if they bring their full force."

Varis looked at the blacksmith incredulously. "Are you well today, sir?"

"I believe there is no physical damage to me."

Varis bit back a witty reply. Then it was his turn to feel stupid. "You lost somebody close to you when the Dragans last invaded, didn't you?"

The blacksmith steeled himself visibly against the old pain. "That's the past, lad. Let's make sure we can prevent more deaths in the present. I suppose your master will be looking for you by now."

Varis took that as a dismissal and began walking out of the large workshop. "Varis?" The blacksmith asked. Varis stopped at the door.

"Survive, lad. Survive."

Varis nodded tightly and walked out of the tent.

And right into a nightmare.

It took him a moment to understand what was going on and saw strange figures moving among the legionnaires, who were fighting the figures fiercely. Joran after Joran in the Legion fell, their killers never relenting. Varis froze in position, not sure of his next move. There were at least twenty of the things moving. His instincts screamed at him to lay low and felt the wind of an arrow pass him by a millimeter, burying its' shaft in a rushing legionnaire's throat. Another arrow whizzed just over his head.

Varis crouched and crawled forward, inching very carefully. More legionnaires were being brought down in a bloody show. The white tents that indicated the healers tents were stained with blood. Voices screamed incoherently, a shabby line of defense being constructed, blocking off a purple building. A legionnaire was hurled with fierce force and his head landed on a massive stone, which had become Varis' shelter, blood and brains splattering. For once, Varis was glad he hadn't eaten.

His survival instinct kicked in, his hand reaching out for where he knew the legionnaire's sword would be. Arrows peppered the area, trying to force Varis into a retreat. Varis' heart lurched, but his hand seemed to be in another dimension of its own. He picked the sword up, along with the legionnaire's shield. Heavy as it was, he had carried a ton of it during his one week here.

He strapped the shield to his arm and kept the sword in a guard position. He looked behind him, the blacksmith was doing some fighting of his own there. Anger rushed through him. Intense anger. His vision simply went red. He got up and walked towards the nearest intruder, with its back to him.

He stalked behind it in utter silence until he was in range for a sword strike. The legionnaire fighting it saw Varis from the corner of his eye and determination returned in a jiffy. The Dragan wore down the determination and began pressing the legionnaire. Varis heard something break and the legionnaire screamed in pain, doubling over, dropping his shield to the ground. The Dragan let out a grunt of delight and prepared himself for the killing stroke.

Varis turned his sword for a backhand stroke and without further ado, closed the distance between them rapidly, burying the sword deep into the Dragan's neck, not quite severing it. Blood sprayed and poured, thick and black from the wound. He ejected the sword from the neck, black blood dripping.

"You okay there?" Varis said, in between pants.

"Thanks, lad. A bit shaken but not dead."

Varis grabbed the legionnaire's hand and dragged him to his feet. All around, orders were flying amidst a cacophony of swordplay. Blood stained several tents, legionnaires and Dragans fallen in a pool of their blood, neatly severed by weapons of all sorts.

"What happened here?" Varis asked, puzzled. The legionnaire's eyes seemed detached, bleeding profusely from a bad cut just above one eye. The blood flowed freely into one eye, forcing it shut.

"Apparently, the boys at the Wall got annihilated. The Dragans found a way to get in here, doubtless killing the scouts along the way. So, if my estimate is correct, I'd say some five hundred men."

Varis whistled. He wasn't really satisfied with that answer. After all, the wall was stretching for miles. "Are you sure that the other Legions aren't affected?"

"It's likely. And this is just an advance party. Imagine what would happen when they come in here with full force."

Behind the legionnaire, the last of the Dragan advance party was struck down with flames, leaving the smell of offal thick in the air. Legionnaires lay dead, scattered across the sands, blood pouring. The dead and the dying alike were covered in a canopy of ravens and vultures, enjoying the feast of the dead.

Orders barked noisily from a man's throat with soldiers rushing away from the source of the voice. The man was a tall man with narrow shoulders, dressed in full armor, a large sword in his scabbard.

"If I find any idiotic legionnaire lazing about here, by the Spirits, I will have you flogged! I want men at the Wall now before the Dragans advance. And I swear, any of you that does anything stupid here, you'll regret it badly!" The man, obviously the captain, screamed and stormed towards them. The legionnaires that stood in his way scampered away as the air became superheated all around the man. Fire licked across everywhere he stepped.

"You two, yes you, looking like the ravens have been at you, what the hell are you waiting for, morons? Get your asses moving!"

The legionnaire wilted under his gaze and moved out of the way. Varis though, stood rooted to the ground with fear. The man stopped right in front of Varis.

"Boy, move out of the way and get the weapons to the men right now" The captain's voice dropped to a whisper, a mad look in his eyes. Varis swallowed nervously and tried to search for the right words.

"Sir..." Varis voice skipped an octave, making his voice crack seeming like a boy in puberty. Varis cleared his throat. "Sir, with all due respect, I shall not move until I see that my friend here, gets medical attention."

The captain glared at Varis with that same lunatic like look. "He will get medical attention when all the other serious injuries are treated sufficiently."

"Then I shall not move." Varis' legs trembled. "I shall not move until he gets attention right away. I did not save his life for him to die."

The captain bent significantly to see Varis eye-to-eye. Varis wanted to take his eyes away in fear, but his purpose would be defeated. He was very sure his eyes revealed all the fear. The air heated again, the man still glaring at Varis, waiting for him to back down. Varis started sweating profusely, knees knocking together. He swallowed again and tried steeling his eyes.

The captain sighed and put one hand on Varis' shoulder. "Boy, danger's on its way. In fact, it's here already. Why don't you just scoot and give your friend the much desired attention?"

A pang of pain passed through him. "I'm not a medico, sir. I'm just a blacksmith."

"You can use Metal and Mantra to heal him, just not as effectively as the Water and Fire"

"My skills at Metal are next to zero."

"Oh, a minoris I see. You can still use it to numb the pain."

"I don't have any art!!!" Varis yelled, annoyed at the questions and the constant pangs of sorrow they were causing in him.

The captian looked stunned, his composure melting a little. He quickly steeled his eardrums in a subconscious effort of molding. Then he looked at Varis sympathetically.

"How old are you, lad?" Compassion in his voice

"Fourteen"

The captain shook his head. Then he turned his head to the right. "You, you, you." He pointed at three men behind him in quick succession. They jumped in surprise and hurried to his side. "Get that legionnaire a healer to see to him with immediate effect."

"But, sir..." One of them objected. The captain whirled from his position with startling speed and stood upright, grabbing the legionnaire by this lorica, lifting him off the ground.

"That is an order, legionnaire. Say one more word and I will hand you over the flogger to stripe you"

The legionnaire whimpered and swallowed. He allowed a quick nod. The man dropped him unceremoniously, leaving the legionnaire in a heap on the floor.

A group of riders previously unseen circled around the tents and stopped behind the captain. The captain, who obviously had sensed their presence turned around casually. "What is it? What has gone wrong?"

Their faces looked pale, sucked of all the moisture.

"Sir, Dragans. Thousands upon thousands of Dragans."